A New Chapter
by KatMellark21
Summary: The story of Katniss and Peeta's lives post Mockingjay. Read "The Breakfast Game" (/s/8577830/1/The-Breakfast-Game) for the prologue to this multi-chap fic chronicling the married and family life of Katniss and Peeta.
1. Chapter 1

I could feel the strong muscles of his chest flexing underneath my head as Peeta yawned and stretched when he woke up. I looked up to see a satisfied grin on his face, no longer the tired expression he wore at breakfast.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty," I joked, leaning up to gently kiss him, "sleep well?"

"Yes." He said back simply, his eyes twinkling blue. "You look gorgeous today, as usual."

A slight blush rose in my cheeks at his compliment. He had no idea the effect his words have on me…although, given the grin he is giving me now, maybe he does. I smirk back and give him another kiss. Longer than the last one, but still soft and sweet.

I can feel his lips smiling beneath mine and pull away, allowing our foreheads to rest together as we lay there in the light of the midday sun coming through the curtains.

"Well you sure seem to be in a good mood today." He said, his smile widening as one eyebrow twitching up amusedly at my not-so-typical physical display of affection.

"I actually wanted to tell you something." I said, a smile on my own lips.

"Good news I hope," he replied pleasantly, turning onto his side, his arm now folded beneath his head, propping it up so he can see me. "What is it?"

Suddenly the words leave me and I'm left staring dumbly at him. It had taken me weeks just to think such a thing but now to voice it to him…I find that I am nervous. I've never dreamed of being able to say something like this to anyone.

To be honest, when I was younger I had always wanted a family of my own. I remember when Prim was born. We didn't have much in the Seam, but my parents were so happy. And when I got to hold Prim for the first time… Mom had set me down on our bed and laid her on my lap. I was only four years old, so Prim had seemed huge on my small lap wrapped up in a dingy off-white blanket. I recall little tidbits, memories of a past that was dim, but pleasant. I remember watching Prim growing up. Watching her learn to sit up, to eat with a spoon, to crawl, to walk… I remember when I took her with me to school and having to send her off to her own preschool classroom while I went to my third grade class.

A thought tickles me in the back of my mind, reminding me that Peeta was in that class with me, and now he was laying in front of me, waiting to hear what I had to tell him. But still I didn't say anything, nervously holding back the words that I wanted to tell him.

I had banished all thoughts of ever having children of my own when I was eleven. When my father died in that mine explosion. My own mother retreated into herself. She left me to take care of Prim, and suddenly I was the one taking care of her all on my own. And I got to thinking about the Games. I realized what the damage of losing someone could do to a person after my dad died. It was after he died that I really thought about the parents of the kids that go into the Games. What about them? If a parent's love for their child was anything like the love I had for Prim…I couldn't bear it if I'd ever lost Prim.

Of course, she is gone now. And it's hard. It's very hard. Every day I wish that I could see her smiling face and every day I face the realization that she isn't with me anymore.

I didn't think back then I would be able to grow up and have to face the possibility of watching my own children through year after year of Reapings. And then after Peeta and I won the first time...if I ever had any children their names would be guaranteed to be chosen because of what I did.

But there are no Games anymore. I don't need to protect my children from suffering that kind of fate anymore.

My eyes are glassy as I'm lost in my thought, and Peeta's hand gently takes my own, giving it a slight squeeze, "Katniss?"

I shake my head and smile at him, "I wanted to tell you that…" I take a breath before I can say it. The words are harder to say that I realized, "to say that I…"

I bite my lip in frustration at myself. _Just say it_…

I blurted the words out in one quick jumble of words, "I'mreadytohaveababy."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I clench my eyes shut to keep myself from seeing the words hanging in the air between us, but even without seeing them, I can practically feel them clouding the air, making it hard for me to breathe.

I stay this way for a few seconds, eyes closed, my whole body tensed as I wait in anticipation for his reaction. Every moment, I get more anxious. He still isn't responding. This wasn't what I was expecting. I don't know exactly what I _was_ expecting, but it certainly wasn't his silence. Some excitement or giddiness or _something_.

He gently puts a hand on my cheek, caressing it tenderly with his thumb and his soft voice whispering my name is enough for me to coax my eyes open. His blonde eyebrows are creased together with a mixture of confusion, and concern. But then I see it, that glint in his beautiful blue eyes that says he _is_ happy to hear this, but he doesn't address his own pleasure at the idea, instead he turns his focus on me. He presses his lips to my hairline for a long moment and all of the tension in my muscles releases.

He sits up against the headboard and pulls me up to sit beside him. "Katniss, what prompted this from you? Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not sudden. I've been thinking about it for a while now and I just told you now. I know this is something that you really wanted and I want to give you something that would make you happy-"

He cuts me off, his tone soft, but firm as he tells me, "Katniss, I don't want to go through with something like this unless it's something _you_ want. I would love for us to have a baby, but I can be just as happy with just you in my life. I don't want you to end up committing yourself to something like this unless you really want it. Not just so you can please me."

I shake my head, "It's not _just_ to make you happy. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to do this too. I used to be afraid because of the Games, but they've been abolished and I mean…" I cut myself off this time. I used to just brush off his comments about having a family and the words don't come easily to me, I'm honestly surprised that this much has come out already.

"What?" He says, taking my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure me that I can tell him absolutely anything.

I take a deep breath and continue, "The only other thing that was keeping me from wanting to was because…I was afraid I wouldn't be a good mother; that I would end up being the same as my mother."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Peeta's lips, "Katniss, you would be a fantastic mother. You practically raised Prim yourself for a while and she turned out great." He looks me in the eyes so sure of the words he just told me, and I can't help but believe him. I hadn't ever thought about it in that way before, but I can see that he is right. I smile back at him a little, "You really think so?"

"I know so," he kisses me before continuing, "If you want to have a baby then I am all for it. But if you aren't ready just yet, then I am content to wait. I want for this to be your decision. You're the one that has to carry it for nine months." His face betrays no signs of impatience or excitement, only a calm peace.

I smirk a little, "I know. But you're the one that gets to do whatever I say for those nine months, and to be honest there _is_ a slight appeal to having my own personal man servant for an extended period of time…"

"You won't be able to hunt," he says in response, the corner of his lips twitching up teasingly.

"I think I can live off of your cheese buns for a few months."

"You'll get fat."

"And I've cared about how I look since when exactly? Why are you trying to dissuade me?"

"So you're sure about this then? You've thought everything through?" He looks at me with a serious expression, but his eyes are smiling.

I nod my head and smile, "Yes. I've thought it all through and I'm ready for this. Peeta Mellark, I want to have a baby with you."

Finally he doesn't hold back anymore. His blue eyes light up like a sparkling ocean and he grabs both sides of my face in his large warm hands and kisses me. My fingers tangle into his wavy blonde locks and I'm smiling against the kiss. He pulls me close and hugs me tightly to him and when he finally lets me go I can see that he is tearing up a little with joy and excitement.

I can feel myself tearing up, that just by saying this one thing I can make him so happy and I throw myself at him in another passionate kiss before any tears can fall. He kisses me back with just as much fervor and rolls us over on the bed, pressing me onto my back in a tangle of sheets.

In a matter of minutes our kissing escalates and our sleeping clothes are in a pile on the floor. Nothing else in the world exists but Peeta and me. And hopefully by morning, our baby.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I'm sitting up on the bathroom sink waiting for the test results when I hear a knock at the door, "You can come in."

Peeta opens up the door and leans against the countertop to see. Right then the test clears up. And together we're staring down at a little blue line. Negative.

I toss the stupid device into the trash can and catch my arms around Peeta's neck, while his wind around my waist and I release a frustrated sigh. We've been trying for four months now and still nothing. I can't help feeling a little anxious.

Peeta rubs a hand up and down my back comfortingly, and I wrapped my arms a little tighter around his neck, burying my face into his shoulder.

"Hey," he says gently, his breath warm at my ear, "It's fine. We can always try again."

His hands fall to rest on my hips as I pull back and I look him in the eyes, "Peeta, we've been trying for four months and we haven't gotten anywhere. What if…" He presses a finger to my lips to silence me and my eyes drop to the floor.

"Don't start thinking things like that." He picks my chin up and waits for me to look him in the eyes, smiling sweetly when I finally meet his gaze, "The odds haven't been in our favor just yet. But they will be. I promise."

His optimism is beginning to get on my nerves, "How can you say that and seem so sure about it?"

He grins a little wider, "Because I _am_ sure about it. Katniss, when people want something bad enough, it _will_ come to them. We just have to be patient." I'm still not convinced. Peeta smirks and hooks an arm under my knees to scoop me up off the counter, "Come on. We need to get your mind off all this and I think I know just the thing." He sets me down in our bedroom and tells me to get dressed in something comfortable.

I sigh and change into a pair of pants and a short-sleeved shirt then head down to meet him at the front door. He gives me a stupid grin when my eye catches the basket at his side. I roll my eyes sarcastically, "A picnic? _Really_? Could you be any more cliché?"

He scoffs a little and grabs my hand, pulling me out the door, "We'll see if you still feel the same way about our picnic once you've had a few cheese buns."

Half an hour later we're situated on a large blue blanket in the meadow. There are dandelions everywhere, and their cheery golden glow does help to lift my mood some. After we've finished off our little basket of cheese buns, venison sandwiches, and chocolate chip cookies, Peeta pulls me close to him and we lay down together to watch the clouds roll by.

It's a strange pastime, I think. There is nothing to gain from it really, although I must admit it is rather relaxing.

Peeta starts to tell me some story about an order he had had called in yesterday morning. It has something to do with Haymitch and an order for two hundred bright pink cupcakes to be delivered to the Capitol for someone's birthday. I'm not really paying much attention though. I try to listen to him, but my mind is still clutching to the image of that little blue negative sign. The same one I've been seeing for weeks.

He gives my shoulder a nudge, "You're still upset aren't you?" I don't have to answer him. He can read me like an open book and knows that it's still on my mind. I nod slightly in response anyway. He sits up, and because I'd just been leaning on him, I am now sitting up as well. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I nod again and take a minute to collect my thoughts. He waits patiently for me to speak. I don't even try to be eloquent. I just let the words fall out of my mouth in a string of rambling, "We have been trying for months now. Not that the whole process isn't you know…great, I mean…that's not the point. What I mean to say is that I do want for us to have a baby and we've been doing everything right but it still hasn't happened yet and…" my voice catches in my throat for a second when I voice what's really been troubling me in the back of my mind for the last few weeks, "And I'm afraid. What if there's something wrong with _me_. What if we _can't_ have a baby?"

He took my face I his hands and captured my gaze, concern and sympathy spread across his brow, "We just have to be patient. It'll happen when the time is right. In the meantime you have to stop scaring yourself like this. Anxiety isn't good for you. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health, especially if we want a healthy baby."

I see a twinge of concern flicker across his face for a moment at that comment, but it's gone just as quickly as it left and he gives me a devious smirk, "Besides, baby making is fun work wouldn't you say?"

I can feel my ears burning up a bit, it's ridiculous that I still get flustered when he tries to talk about that kind of thing. The blush spreads a bit to my face when I reply with a slightly embarrassed laugh, "Well…yeah. More than fun…"

"Downright _pleasurable_," he teases, twitching his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh shut up," I say in mock annoyance, pushing him playfully.

"You feel like playing around then?" He gives me a mischievous smirk and before I can crawl away, he pulls me down on the blanket and tickles me. I can't hold back the laughter as his fingers assault my sides. I poke him in the ribs back and he jerks away from my hands laughing. We become absorbed in the tickle fight and laughter for a short while until we collapse on the blanket together and call a truce. We stay outside a little longer until the sun begins to set, then head back home for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

A few more weeks passed. The weeks grew into a few months. And Peeta kept reassuring me that it would happen when the time was right. Finally, I let it go and stopped worrying. Keeping myself occupied with other things.

In the early afternoon, Peeta and I pack up our things and head out the door. Over the last few days I have been helping him craft a bow of his own. And today, I am finally going to help him learn how to use it. We trek out together into the woods, a quiver full of arrows on each of our backs.

I've brought him out hunting with me a number of times already and he's gotten significantly better about keeping his stride silent in the leaf-covered ground, despite his prosthetic. But he's never used a bow. Mostly, he goes so that he can keep me company, and sometimes he'll set a few traps here and there. We already have plenty of fresh meat at the house right now. The point of today isn't to bring home any game. Today is just so he can learn how to use it.

We walk for a while until we reach a large pond in the woods. I've chosen this place because this was not only where my father taught me to swim, but also where he taught me how to shoot. I figured that it would be a good spot to teach Peeta as well.

I let Peeta rest for a bit then roll my pants up to my knees and wadeinto the pond to gather some katniss roots for us to munch on.

"You ready?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I'm good."

However, he was anything _but_ good once he got the bow in his hands. It was actually pretty pathetic. His stance was poor. He didn't know how to pull the string back properly. And his aim was atrocious. A small laugh escapes me as I watch his futile attempts before finally stepping in to help.

"Look, copy me," I instruct, proceeding to show him proper archery stance. I place my feet apart, just wider then shoulder-length. Three of my fingers lightly resting on the empty string before I pull it back. I glance over at him and see that h still doesn't have it quite right. His foot placement is good, but everything from the waist up needs some adjustment.

I place my hands on his shoulders and turn his torso a bit. Then I see that his hand is resting too low on the bow, and he's clutching it so tightly his knuckles are turning white. I tell him to scoot his hand up a bit and to relax his grip. Lastly I push his elbow into the proper place and instruct him to use his lips as an anchor point.

His stance is much better now. I have him keep practicing just pulling the string back without any arrows for a bit first. I have to adjust his arms the first few times, but each time he improves and after a handful of tries, I have him add the arrows.

I point out a broad tree a few dozen paces away for him to use as a target. The first dozen or so all miss, but he wasn't terribly off. Finally, he manages to hit the tree a few times.

"Why don't you show me your skills?" He asked, taking a seat on a tree stump to rest his legs.

"You already know I can shoot."

He smirks, "That doesn't mean I don't enjoy watching you."

"Fine," I say, giving him a small smile before taking my rounds at the tree. Arrow after arrow flies through the air, each one meeting its desired target in the bark.

We sit together by the pond watching the sunset. We walk back hand in hand home and he tells me about his next painting project inspired by the day's events: a silhouette of a man and woman shooting arrows in the fading orange glow of sunset.

As soon as we get in the door of the house he dashes off to start the line art for the painting. I shake my head and follow after him then stand behind him quietly, leaning against the doorframe to his art room. I love to watch him when he's like this.

He hasn't painted anything in a while so the inspiration is warmly welcomed. The pencil flies across the canvas in quick short strokes that overlap each other constantly. It's amazing how passionate he is when he is inspired by something like this. Something that he wants to paint out of love instead of as an escape. I've come in here before when he's been sketching or painting away the nightmares and bad memories. He is a completely different person when he's painting those kinds of things. Slowly, as though in pain, he'd run the brush across the paper, usually in long strokes of dark flowing red. But now his motions are quick and light as he sketches the outlines quickly with his pencil. In only a matter of minutes he sets down the pencil and grabs his palette and paint bottles, mixing them together in an array of golden orange hues. He spreads it evenly over the canvas, darker orange fading smoothly into lighter orange into gold.

I've been watching him the whole time, but only just now that he is forced to take a break to let the first coat of paint dry does he notice me, still leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across my chest, smiling.

"You are something else, you know that?" I say, shaking my head, amused.

He smirks and wipes his hands on his painting smock before sauntering over to me. "Oh am I?" He asks leaning down, his warm breath mingling with mine before he kisses me.

"Mhmm," I mumble through the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling myself closer to him.

"Wet paint," he says, quickly untying the smock and tossing it to his paint stool, all the while keeping the majority of his attention on my lips.

We blindly feel our way back to the bedroom in what has somehow become a kissing frenzy. Then collapse onto the bed in a tangled embrace.

A few days later I am sitting on the bathroom sink again, waiting for yet another little plastic test to show me the little…

My eyes grow wide and my throat contracts a bit, "Peeta," I call. He isn't coming fast enough, "PEETA!" Right after I've said it, I almost regret it. He probably thinks I'm dying or something now the way I just screamed his name, but I need him in here. Right. Now.

He bursts into the bathroom, his hair still riddled with bed head and his eyes still half asleep, "What? What's the matter? What's wrong? I heard you yell-oof"

I throw myself at him and kiss him over and over and over again, grinning like a fool. He is caught off guard, but it wakes him up the rest of the way and finally, he kisses me back.

I hold up the test to show him the small pink plus sign and watch as his eyes go from squinting confusion to wide ecstasy. He picks me up by the wait and twirls me around for good measure, pressing dozens of kisses all over my face.

"Katniss, I'm so happy. We're going to have a baby!"

I can't even speak, I am overjoyed and rendered utterly speechless, so I just nod my head a lot and hug myself tightly to him. For the second time in my life, I'm pregnant. But this time it's real.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

The next day, Peeta has to go into town to work the bakery. A lot of the time when he's gone I'll go out to the woods for a while and either hunt or swim or just enjoy being outside. Sometimes I'll even go to visit my mother.

She and I have been doing a lot better lately. We talk a more than we used to. She's doing well for herself now; opened up her own clinic in town. I was going to call her to tell her the news yesterday, but I decided that I should let her know in person. Plus, I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks, so it's time I go visit her again.

I walk into the clinic and see Susan sitting at the front desk, her auburn hair is tied back in a neat bun, the freckles against her pale skin matching the shade of her hair. Susan has sort of become my mother's assistant. She wants to take care of people like my mother does when she gets older and is learning everything she can about the trade right now. Despite being only sixteen years old, she's already very good at what she does and sometimes when things get really busy around the clinic, she'll even help lighten mom's load of patients by taking care of some of the more minor cases herself.

She sees me and waves me over with a broad smile, "Hello Mrs. Mellark. Are you here to Mrs. Everdeen?"

"Hello Susan. I am here to see her. Do you know if she will be going to be on break anytime soon?"

Susan nods around at the empty clinic waiting room with a half-smile, "Well, things are pretty slow today. She's in there right now with a patient, but she'll probably be able to take a break when she gets done. I can hold down the fort while you two catch up."

I stand there and chat with Susan for a few minutes before my mother emerges from the back room, escorting a woman and her young son who's hand is bandaged up to the elbow. The woman looks to the boy and asks him, "What do you say to Ms. Everdeen?"

He looked up at her sheepishly, "Thank you for fixing my arm. I'm not gonna play with the fireplace no more. Promise."

My mother smiled down at him and pat him on the head, assuring the thankful woman that it was no trouble at all and that she was glad she could help. Then she turned to me, her hands folded in front of her and a small smile gracing her lips. "Hello Katniss."

"Hi mom."

It's true, we have improved with time, but the beginnings of our meetings are always strained. All the things that had happened between us after my father died, after Prim died…we are forced to remember these things in each other's presence. After an awkward moment, I ask her if she would like to go have lunch with me at my house in Victor's Village.

"Well I do have the clinic," she says, drawing out her words before giving Susan a knowing glance, "But, I'm sure my apprentice can handle things here for a little while."

The girl grins proudly and sits up taller in her seat, "Oh, of course Mrs. Everdeen! You can count on me!"

Mom and I go back to my house and I heat up some of the leftover stew that Peeta and I had for dinner yesterday. We just sit there quietly for a bit. It's always a little awkward to get back into the casual talking part of our visits. But, soon enough we get a quiet conversation going, just general small talk. She tells me about how the clinic is doing really well and that's she's training Susan in some of the more intricate medical procedures.

When we've finished eating, I pick the bowls up and set them in the sink, and I've finally found my chance to tell her. She brings the cups from the table and sets them beside the bowls in the sink and I turn to face her, "Mom, I actually had something I wanted to tell you."

"What's wrong?" she asks, clearly concerned.

I can't help but feel a little grateful for that look. There was a time when she would never look at me with concern or care or anything. When she just went off and retreated inside herself, leaving me stranded and alone. But now, at just a few words, she turns into this caring and protective person and I am so glad to have that again.

A smile spreads on my face and I almost laugh, "Nothing's wrong. In fact, everything is perfect. Peeta and-" I stop myself, and rephrase. "I'm pregnant."

She stands there, a little stunned at first, but gradually, a smile spreads on her face. Next thing I know she's got her arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace. She gathers herself together again, taking my hands in hers, and stares at me with this weird expression of happiness mixed with surprise. I'd never even told her that I'd convinced myself that I wanted to have a baby, I mean really, the last thing I was going to tell my mom is that I would be busy with baby-making.

For the next hour she tells me everything that she can think to warn me about as far as what side effects come with being pregnant, what to eat, what not to eat, exercise routines etc. Finally she knows she has to get back to the clinic. As she turns to leave, she looks at me and asks if I want her to be the one to deliver it when it comes.

There are another few women in town that know how to deliver babies. And sure, it's a long way off from now, but it's definitely best to be prepared and at least know who to call when the time comes. And of all the women that do handle this kind of thing, I trust my mom the most. I nod my consent to her as she smiles and heads out the door back to town.


	6. Chapter 6

The weeks pass by slowly. Everything seems like it's going well until one morning I wake up feeling absolutely awful. My insides are churning in discomfort and my head is killing me. I rush to the bathroom and empty my stomach of what little is left of the half-digested food from dinner the past night. Peeta must have heard me gaging because it's not long before he comes into the bathroom after me kneeling down and holding my hair out of my face.

"You okay?" he asks, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

I shake my head, still clinging to the toilet. I still want to throw up again, but it doesn't want to come up.

I can feel Peeta messing with my hair, splitting it into three separate locks and twisting them together in a braid for me. He grabs a hair tie from the sink and secures the bottom of my braid just as another wave of nausea forces my stomach acid up my throat. I cough a bit, and Peeta hands me a cup of water to rinse my mouth out.

"Thanks."

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Peeta's at work today and I'm rather bored alone at home. I decide that I could go out hunting today before my baby bump grows much more. It's not a huge prominent bulge right now, but it is noticeable. Once I get around to month four I can imagine Peeta will probably try to take my bow away from me to keep me home. It's a good idea as far as I can see to stock up on meat while I can.

The morning sickness isn't as horrible now as it had been the last few weeks, but I do get a little nauseous as I bend over to tie up my boots. I grab my bow and head out to the woods.

I find myself a nice little niche to hide in and wait for an animal to come along. After about half an hour of waiting quietly, I spot it. A doe comes into my view. She's a good size too, the meat on that deer would last for months if I packed it up with salt and stored it well.

I raise my bow and take aim, waiting for her to come just a little closer. As I draw back the string though, the doe turns her head back and makes a noise. A young fawn trots out quickly to her side and I can see that the little creature is shaking in fright. I lower the weapon again. I can't kill it. If I kill the mother, I kill the baby deer too.

A hand goes to rest on my stomach subconsciously. I'm not really feeling up to hunting anymore for the day. I decide to set out some snares and come collect whatever they catch tomorrow.

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I feel something strange and my gaze quickly shifts from the painting that Peeta is working on down to my hands resting on my stomach. I feel it again both inside and from the outside underneath my hand.

"Peeta," I say, from the couch I'm lounging on. He finishes moving the brush through in one long stroke before answering me with a quiet hum. "I think the baby is moving."

He quickly sets the brush down and turns around on his stool to face me with a grin plastered to his face, "Really?"

A small laugh escapes me as I nod. He looks rather silly between the stupid grin on his face and the streak of green paint on his forehead. He comes and kneels down beside the couch and I take his hand and put it over my stomach.

He stokes my skin with his thumb and waits but even after a few minutes there's still no more movement. I frown a little. I wanted him to be able to feel it to, "I'm sorry…"

He gives me a quizzical look, "You're sorry? There's nothing to be sorry about. Takes a lot of energy for a little one to get up and move around. They're probably just taking a short nap before they decide to kick you again. But if it bothers you that much…" He gives me a smile before leaning close to my stomach and says quietly, "Hello in there. It's Daddy. Momma wants you to say hi to me. You mind giving us just a little kick?"

I laugh again as he sits there talking to the baby. It's the most precious thing and these sweet moments like this definitely make up for the hell of morning sickness and back aches.

"I guess you're asleep then, huh little one? That's okay. Daddy'll be back later when you wake up," he leans down to kiss my stomach, and right then, a firm kick hits right where his lips meet. He pulls back and laughs, "Well that's one way to say hello."

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"Are you sure you want all of this?" Peeta asks me, carrying a large tray with an assortment of foods to me on the bed.

"Yes. I am starving. Give it to me," I don't care how ridiculous I look with my arms stretched towards the food and my fingers opening and closing in 'grabby hands' at him.

He sits down beside me and sets the tray down between us, giving me an amused but slightly grossed out look. If I were watching anyone else with these weird cravings, I'd probably be grossed out to. The tray has a ridiculous variety of foods. There are cheese buns, ice cream, brussel sprouts, carrots, lemons, applesauce, more cheese buns, strawberries, soup, pickles, and more cheese buns. In a matter of minutes I've managed to stuff my face and finished half of the food on the tray, but my cravings go away and I'm left looking at the rest of the food feeling a little nauseous.

I notice Peeta's still looking at me and has this really stupid look on his face, "What?"

He laughs, "Nothing. I was just thinking about how beautiful you are."

Damn these hormones. I can feel a tear trying to well up in my eye as he scoot closer to me and gently kisses me. He moves the tray with the leftover food onto the nightstand and pulls me into his lap. I lean back into his chest and his hands wrap around me to rest on my belly.

A thought crosses my mind and I decide to go ahead and ask, "Peeta, do you want one more than the other?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want a boy or a girl?"

His thumb grazes over my stomach lightly as the baby shifts around inside me, "I will be happy as long as he or she is a happy, healthy baby." He kisses my cheek and rests his chin on my shoulder.

I try to imagine what it will be like when the baby finally does come. If it's a boy or a girl. Playing with Peeta in the meadow. Following him to work. Visiting my mother at the clinic or going in for check-ups. But I don't know where I stand in all that.

How do I be a mother?


	7. Chapter 7

I wake up from my midday nap to the sound of knocking at the door. I groan a little, and roll out of the bed, jamming my swollen feet into a pair of slippers on the floor. Because of the enormous globe that is now my stomach, I waddle slowly to the door. I feel a sharp kick from the baby in protest at me for waking up.

The knocking persists. "I'm coming!" I shout a bit, just a few more waddling strides away. Finally I open the door and standing there on the doorstep is a bright-faced Susan.

"Hello, Mrs. Mellark. These are for you from Mrs. Everdeen," she says, holding out a vase of wild roses. I take the vase from her and set it on a little table by the door. "Oh, and this too. Have a nice day Mrs. Mellark! I have to head back to the clinic now ." She hands me an envelope and quickly makes her way back toward town.

I give the roses a glance, wondering whether I should move them to a sunnier room of the house. But I decide to just leave them there and go back to bed. It was a nice gesture, but roses are by far, my least favorite flower. I can't help but associate them with Snow. And these ones are a far too fragrant for my tastes; I'm practically choking on their scent. If I just starve them of sunlight for a day or two, then surely they'll die faster. I would just throw them away, but my mother did give them to me to try to be nice, and if she stops by later I don't want to make her upset if she'd find them in the trash.

After I've waddled back across the house and gotten tucked back under the covers, I open up the envelope. My mother's delicate handwriting is scrawled out across the page.

_I hope you like the flowers. I know you've been cooped up in the house in these final weeks, and you are probably missing your outdoor hikes and such, so I thought bringing in a little nature would do you good._

_I am sorry this is such short notice, but I have to make a trip to the Capitol before the baby arrives if we want everything to be ready. You still have two and a half weeks left and I'll be back in just a couple of days, so I will be back before your due date._

_Now don't forget to…_

Her letter went on, reminding me to stay healthy, eat right, get lots of rest, etc. etc. I guess I could just go ahead and throw the roses away. But, I'm already in bed. I don't feel like getting up again. I slide the letter back into the envelope and put it on my nightstand before rolling over and falling asleep again.

A few hours later I'm sitting on the couch reading a book when I hear the front door open. Peeta must be home. I smile a bit and shout over my shoulder for him to come over here. He doesn't answer back right away, and thinking he couldn't hear me I shout again, "Hey, Honey? Are you okay?"

I hear a loud shattering noise and quickly head towards the front door.

Peeta is standing there, the palms of his hands pressed tightly to his head, his eyes clenched shut. At his feet lies the shattered remains of the glass vase and the roses are strewn across the ground in a puddle. He opens his eyes and I see darkness in them and I know right away that he's relapsed from the hijacking. It must have been the roses. They probably triggered a memory of Snow or something.

I try to slip away quietly so he wouldn't notice me, but his gaze flicks up at me; his eyebrows casting dark shadows over his eyes making him appear even more menacing. My heart is racing in my chest and I feel a light kick from within. Out of instinct, my hands fly protectively to my stomach.

"It's you," he growls, glaring at me, his voice rough and deeper than usual, "You're the mutt. You're the one that's made my life a living hell! You're the reason for my pain!"

He's shouting so loud, I swear that the windows are shaking. He steps towards me, the broken glass shards crunching beneath his shoes. He looks at me, his eyes narrow slits of hate.

My head is telling me that I need to reason with him and pull him out of this, but my instincts are telling me to find safety. Peeta doesn't have relapses often. In fact, the last one was well over a year and a half ago. I'm still trying to decide if I should calm him down or find safety, but his next words make my decision for me, "I'm going to kill you, Katniss."

Before he takes another step I turn and dash back toward the bedroom. I slam the door shut, but he followed me and his foot jams into the frame in time to catch it. I stumble backwards into the room and look for something to distract him with. My eyes catch a pair of shoes and I grab them and lob them at his head, one flings by his right ear, but the other makes a direct hit on his eye. While he is distracted for just a moment to press his palm into his eye in pain, I scramble for the bathroom. The lock on the door can keep him out at least for a little while. As I turn the lock on the door, the knob twists violently in my hand from the other side of the door and Peeta slams the door into me.

I double over as a shot of pain courses through my abdomen and I silently beg that the baby is okay. Peeta takes a few casual steps toward me, his eyes teeming with bloodlust. As he gets closer, I'm forced to step back away from him until I'm pressed against the wall. He puts a strong hand on my jaw and firmly turns my head in his grip.

"I can snap that pretty little neck of yours with just a twist of my wrist," he says, his voice quiet and sinister, "Wouldn't take much would it? But, no, I don't think I'm going to do that. You've made my life a living hell. So much, _pain_. No, I won't grant you the mercy of a quick death. I want to watch you suffer."

I know he doesn't mean it. The words are just put in his head from the hijacking. But I'm still scared. A sudden sharp pain pounds in my stomach and I feel a trickle rushing down my legs.

No. No this can't be happening. Not here. Not right now.

Terror grips me as I realize fully the gravity of this situation. My water has just broken.

Peeta's hand releases my face and he takes a step back in disgust from the puddle on the floor.

My muscles clench within me again and I shout, sliding down to crouch on the floor, hoping that somehow if I squat down then I would be able to relieve some of the pain. Peeta is just staring down at me, and through pain-blurred eyes I glance up to him. His face shows that he is confused, and he's losing that menacing expression he had a moment ago. Another contraction seizes me and unprepared for it, I shriek. The pain is so much worse that I had imagined it would be.

My scream must have been enough to pull Peeta back to reality. He bends down, his face a range of emotions from fear to shame to compassion. He bends down beside me quickly and drapes my arm around his shoulder to help me stand, but as we rise up, I shout again as yet another contraction comes. He slides his arms below me and carries me out quickly to the bed, sitting me up against the backboard.

He rushes to the phone and dials a number, "She's not…here," I say through grit teeth. I know the first person he'd call would be my mother. "She went to the…the Capitol this morning." I roll a bit to the side as his weight presses down into the bed beside me and his arms wind around my shoulders. My voice shrinks to a barely audible whisper, "I'm scared Peeta."

He presses his lips into my hair and whispers back, "Me too, Katniss. Me too…"


	8. Chapter 8

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter could be seen as graphic by some readers. Viewer discretion is advised. (child birth)

Peeta takes my hand and looks at me with helplessness. It's stressing him out that he can't even help me. I try to relax, and for a couple of minutes it seems like things are slowing down, but I feel a strong building tension and another contractions sweeps violently through me. I clench Peeta's hand and gnash my teeth together waiting for it to pass.

"Susan. She's still here at the clinic right?" he asks me when I finally release his fingers from my grip. I nod in response to his question. "I'm going to call her over here then. Don't-don't move. I'll just be right back. I'll call her."

He quickly gets up off the bed and walks across the room to call the clinic. His worry, and the fact that he thought I would actually try to go anywhere would be amusing, if I weren't so scared right now.

I try to distract myself from thinking about the pain and listen to him speaking on the phone. I can hear most of what Susan is saying.

"Susan? It's Peeta. I need you to get out here as soon as you can."

"What's wrong Mr. Mellark? Did something happen to Mrs. Mellark?"

"Yes. I think she's in labor."

"Did her water break?"

"Um…yes?"

"I will be over there as fast as I can. I have one more patient here and he needs his arm stitched up pretty bad. How far apart are her contractions?"

"What?"

"In minutes. How many minutes between them?"

"A few I think…"

"You're not being very specific Mr. Mella-" I hear a shout on her end of the line and Peeta cringes at the noise in his ear, "I'll be there as soon as I can Mr. Mellark. Just try to keep her calm and breathing evenly."

"Thank you."

It has only been about half an hour since he got off the phone with her, though it feels like it's been hours, when Susan comes into the room with a bag slung over her shoulder. She quickly begins to pull out a few towels and blankets from the bag. "The front door was open," she explained then looks up at Peeta, giving him a questioning look, while she arranges the bag on the edge of the bed.

She must have seen the broken vase when she walked in. I don't know how extensive Susan's knowledge is concerning Peeta's hijacking, but I can't focus on the thought long as an intense contraction seizes me and I huff in pain.

Susan turns her gaze from Peeta and onto me and gives him some instructions, "Mr. Mellark, go and get me a large bucket or a basin of warm water, quickly." He dashes out of the room to retrieve it and Susan rolls her sleeves up. She helps me to sit up a bit, arranging pillows behind my back for support.

At the beginning of my pregnancy, I'd assumed that I would feel really self-conscious and awkward when the time came for someone to have to look…down there, to deliver the baby. But right now, there is no time for any of that. Susan takes my ruined underwear off and tosses them into the wastebasket. Just then, Peeta arrives with the bucket and sets it down where Susan tells him to.

"Mr. Mellark are you goi-"

He cuts her off with a barrage of questions, "Is she going to be okay? What about the baby? Will the baby be okay? How do I help? What do I do?"

"Peeta!" she says, raising her voice a bit, "She'll be fine. But I need to know first if you are going to be okay in here. If you are going to pass out or something, it's better if you leave. If you can handle it, I will need your help."

He runs his hands through his hair shamefacedly, "Yes. I'll be fine. Sorry. What do I need to do?"

I'm trying desperately to hold it back, but a loud groan escapes me followed by a sharp cry. SO much pressure is building up inside me as the organs squeeze with the force of a mine explosion in reverse.

"Sit behind her and keep her breathing. It sounds silly, but in the process of it all, some women forget to breathe because they are putting all of their focus on pushing. Just coach her through it. Okay?"

Peeta scoots the pillows out from behind me and sits himself against the headboard allowing me to lean back into his chest. He wraps his hands around mine and I clench at them tightly, my knuckles turning white in the process.

Susan tries to speak calmly to me, "Katniss, you aren't fully dilated yet. You're going to want to push, but you have to resist that right now. If you start pushing now, you could hurt yourself and the baby."

I know she's right. My mom had explained most of the birthing process to me. I try to relax and let my body do its job, but after another agonizing half hour I'm fighting against the urge to push.

Susan goes to check again, "Alright. You're ready. I'm going to count and you have to give a long, steady push. Peeta, keep her breathing. Okay Katniss, push. 1…2…3…"

For ten long seconds I push. I can feel it inside me, threatening to rip me apart and I can't hold back tears of pain.

"I can already see the head. Catch your breath and go again. Ready…push…"

She counts again and I can feel Peeta trying to speak comforting words in my ear and squeezing my hand. But the only thing that exists to my senses is the terrible pain.

"It hurts!" I shout, tears streaming down my face.

"I know it hurts, but you're almost there, one more and the head will be out. Come on. Push. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…stop. Stop!"

I stop pushing and look over at her, panting for breath, "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You just need to stop pushing. The head is out now, I'm going to wiggle the shoulders out a little to help and I need you to give one more strong push. Ready?" She waits a second for me to nod, "Alright, push."

I give it everything I've got left and at the end of it, I fall back limp against Peeta. His arms wind around me and he kisses the top of my head multiple times.

But, there's a deep feeling of dread spreading inside me. Something's wrong...


	9. Chapter 9

I wave Peeta's kisses off, and quickly sit up, ignoring the shock of pain the sudden movement sends through me, "Something's wrong…Babies are supposed to cry. Why isn't it crying? Why isn't it-…" A muffled whine cuts me off and grows to a shrill cry that rises and falls in voume as Susan clears the baby's nose of fluid.

Susan quickly finishes washing the baby off with the water from the basin. She wraps a blanket loosely around it and walks over to me and hands me the wriggling, crying bundle, "Congratulations Mrs. Mellark, it's a girl."

I adjust the swaddled infant in my arms and gradually, she stops crying. She's so small and light in my arms. Her face is all red and she has a headful of dark wavy hair.

Peeta leans his head down over my shoulder to get a better view, "She's beautiful." She really is. I haven't seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. And I'm just left staring at her, completely dumbstruck.

This little baby…she's ours. And the reality of it hits me. I'm faced suddenly with so many emotions. Fear that I won't be able to take care of her or that something could happen to her. Pride that together, Peeta and I were able to make something so amazing. Relief that she is healthy. But above all, an ecstatic awe fills every inch of my body.

I can't describe in words the feeling of holding her in my arms. She is so precious to me. The tears on my face are no longer tears of pain, but of joy. How is it possible to love someone this much when you'd never even seen them before?

One salty drop falls from my chin and lands on my baby's cheek, and her face scrunches up in agitation. I quickly wipe it off and just as I pull my thumb away from her soft cheek, she opens her eyes. First, just narrow slits as her eyes adjust to the light, and slowly they open up to reveal a pair of gorgeous bright blue eyes to match her father's.

Peeta reaches out a finger to her hand and she instinctively wraps her tiny fingers around it, barely reaching all the way around his. I chuckle a little bit and manage to choke out one little greeting to my daughter, "Hi."

The sound of my voice startles her and she blinks in surprise, turning her gaze up to me with her big blue eyes. A huge smile spreads on my face as I look at her rosy round cheeks and her little nose. Everything about her is perfect.

Susan smiles at us and starts to clean up, "Do you guys have a name picked out for her yet?"

Peeta answers her, wiggling his finger which is still firmly in the baby's grip, "Not really. We were going to spend the next two weeks picking a name. We had talked about a couple of boy names before but didn't like any."

"Well, you two better get to picking. It's going to have to go on her birth certificate pretty soon," she said with a light laugh, "I'm going to go wash out these towels and let you all get to know each other. And, Mrs. Mellark, you are probably going to want to feed her in a few minutes. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. I'll be back later tonight with the birth certificate."

"Thank you Susan," Peeta says to her.

I tear my gaze from my baby and look at her, her arms full of the soiled towels and her bag of supplies. She's just a girl, hardly over seventeen years old now; but it's because of her that my baby and I are okay right now. Maybe I could have delivered the baby on my own, but who knows how that could have gone? Either of us could have been hurt or worse…and I realize, I'll never stop owing Susan either.

I know she doesn't expect any kind of payment or some grand reward. She's told me before that helping people is the greatest reward she could ever hope to receive. This is what she has always wanted to do. But it doesn't change the fact that she is very likely the only reason that my baby is alive. And I will never forget that. "Thank you so much," I tell her, though I know it will never be close to enough to express just how thankful I truly am.

Susan just gives me a broad smile and says, "You're welcome," before heading out the door.

After a few moments, I lean back against Peeta. He rests his head over my shoulder and his cheek brushes mine. I can feel a tear on his cheek rub off on my own, but the grin he has lets me know that it's because he's just as happy as I am to finally have her, safe and healthy.

"So, what do you think we should name her?" he asks me softly. The baby turns her face to find where this new voice is coming from, and her little mouth falls open just a bit.

I had thought about names here and there for the last few months, and one I kept coming back to, but I always shied away from it, "I keep thinking that...Primrose would be a good name, but I don't know."

"I think that's a wonderful name," he gives my shoulder a light squeeze and a kiss on the cheek, "And I know that if Prim were here she'd be more than thrilled that you would name our daughter after her."

"I know, but…"

"But you'd be constantly reminded of Prim?" It's more of a statement than a question, and I just nod a little in response, "Well, we could call her Rose for short instead of Prim, if you like."

I almost say yes, but I stop and think for a moment. It was the roses that triggered Peeta's hijacking earlier. Roses are eternally associated with Snow in my mind. No I can't name her that. I shake my head again.

I think for a little bit. I want something that she'll always be able to remember where she came from. Something with meaning. She wriggles in my arms and begins to cry.

Instinct takes over and I know that she needs to be fed. I don't even feel self-conscious unfastening the buttons on my top and working the short sleeve off my shoulder. I pick her up to eat and it's the most natural thing in the world, though it's certainly not the most comfortable thing in the world by any means.

"Bridget," I say, "I like the name Bridget."

He considers it a moment, testing it out on his tongue, "Bridget. Bridget? Bridget. I like it. What made you think of it?"

"I've heard it before, I can't recall when or where I'd heard it right now, but I remember it means fire. And I think it's a really pretty name."

"It's perfect," he says, turning my head to kiss me.


End file.
